


Accident on the Brooklyn Bridge

by slippery_soak



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Excessive use of the word fuck, In Public, M/M, Omorashi, POV Bucky Barnes, Situational Humiliation, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23968732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slippery_soak/pseuds/slippery_soak
Summary: An impromptu road-trip on the bike and one very desperate Bucky make for a very messy ride to Brooklyn.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 11
Kudos: 61





	Accident on the Brooklyn Bridge

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all. Have some Bucky omo. For those that don't know--that means PEE. So, if that's a squicky subject for you, please do hit that back button now.
> 
> Like my A+ title there? Yeah, me too. Me too.

Bucky should ask. He should really, really ask. How much longer does Steve expect them to be stuck in this traffic? _Let’s go for a ride_, Steve said. _It’s a beautiful day_, Steve said. _We’ll tool around our old stomping grounds_, Steve fucking said.

Tool around, his ass. He’s been on the back of Steve’s motorcycle for the better part of an hour now, and they’re still in fucking Manhattan. They’re stuck in traffic on the FDR, just shy of the Brooklyn Bridge, where some _dumbass_ apparently decided to drive into oncoming traffic and now no one is moving and Bucky, really, really needs to goddamn piss. And yes, he knows this is something he should’ve taken care of before they left the tower, but he’d honestly thought—thirty minutes tops and they’d be eating pizza, and wandering around Prospect Park. Surely he’d be fine til they stopped in Brooklyn for a break, right? 

Ha. Right. That was before Steve ‘Scenic Route’ Rogers met Can’t Drive New Yorker, and now Bucky’s bladder is paying the price. Fuck, if they’d taken the subway they’d have been there by now. But the truth is, Bucky knew from the moment he threw one leg over Steve’s bike and straddled the seat that he was in trouble. He felt the heavy weight in his abdomen, and his thighs clenched reflexively around the leather and chrome, and for just a split-second the thought of running back inside to pee flitted through his mind. But then Steve revved the bike and the engines purred to life, and they were doing this. 

On any other day, Bucky would have enjoyed everything about this. The closeness of their bodies, pressed up against each other, heat radiating in delicious waves off Steve’s back; the sunshine, the warm spring air, and the wind whipping through Bucky’s hair as Steve took the ramp out of the garage at ludicrous speed; the hum of the motor, each new vibration causing what felt like an earthquake inside Bucky’s body; vibrations that went straight to his dick and had him curling his toes inside his boots. On any other day, this would have been freedom, and sex, and _fun_. But today all he is feeling is agony. 

He squirms in his seat, hands braced against his thighs. He’d long since stopped clinging to Steve’s waist now that the bike is no longer moving. His bladder is a burning, pulsing need pressing against the waistband of his too tight jeans. He had been so sure when they’d left that _it hadn’t been that bad_. Sit back and enjoy the ride, he’d told himself. It’ll be over before you know it. Yeah, something’s definitely going to be over real quick if he doesn’t get a handle on the situation ASAP. Fuck, he’s going to ask. He needs to ask. 

“How long do you think we’re going to be stuck here?” 

Steve turns to look over his shoulder, studying him. “Don’t know, Buck. At least it’s a nice day out.” 

Bucky grits his teeth and frowns. A nice day for pissing your pants on a public highway, he thinks to himself, and then immediately regrets it as his bladder gives a vicious spasm. 

“C’mon, Steve,” Bucky forces his voice to sound calm. “I don’t really want to be stuck out here all day.” 

He can’t help the little wiggle that escapes him. His hips cant toward Steve, and he’s dangerously close to pressing himself tighter against Steve’s ass. Some hind-brain part of him wants to thrust and to rut, and anything really, find some friction, some pressure that he desperately needs. He’s suddenly acutely aware of the fact that they made no effort to disguise themselves when they left the tower. No one was really going to be paying attention to them while the bike was moving. But now that it’s stopped, surrounded on all sides by other traffic, Bucky realizes how exposed they really are, sitting like lame ducks on Steve’s bike. Given long enough, people will start to stare. They are already starting to mill about the highway, stretching their legs, leaning against their cars. What if someone decides this would be a perfect time for that Captain America photo-op? 

Bucky feels his skin flush and the first real sense of panic begin to creep over him. He shifts his weight, trying his best not to jostle his bladder. He feels his dick twitch against the confines of his underwear and he lets out a surprised puff of air. If they were inside of a car, he probably would’ve already had his hand between his legs, holding himself, gaining some sort of momentarily relief. But they are not in a car. They are on a motorcycle. In the middle of a Manhattan afternoon, surrounded by people, and no amount of muscle-clenching, thigh-grabbing, restless squirming is going to help unless they get the fuck out of here. 

Steve’s voice cuts through Bucky’s rapidly-approaching-manic thoughts. “If you’re that bored why don’t you get up and walk around for a little bit. Stretch your legs.” 

Bucky gives him a short, sharp shake of his head. The thought of standing up _terrifies_ him right now. He sucks in a deep breath and tries unsuccessfully to repress a shiver. Steve frowns at him, squinting against the afternoon sun beating down on them. The engine shuts off; the constant vibration that had been thrumming underneath Bucky’s skin is finally gone. The stillness is a shock to his system. 

“You okay, Buck?” 

“I’m fine.” And then sensing that Steve is going to need a little more, “It’s just the crowd is all. Too many people making me nervous. You know how it is.” 

Steve studies him for a moment longer before reaching back and placing a hand over one of his, resting on his leg. Steve’s fingers feel hot and heavy against his skin and he trembles a little bit at the touch. Steve gives his hand a squeeze and then begins to move his body away from Bucky’s. “Well, I think I’m going to stand up and stretch, even if you aren’t.” 

Fear seizes Bucky, and before he can think what he’s doing, his hands fly up to grip at Steve’s hips, locking him in place. 

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice doesn’t sound exasperated, not yet, just curious. 

All Bucky can think is that if Steve gets up, his _cover_ will be gone. Up until this point Steve had been acting as a sort of safety blanket in his mind. And yeah, he doesn’t actually want to piss on his boyfriend, or his motorcycle, or in his goddamn pants for that matter. But as long as Steve is sitting there in front of him, Bucky feels some modicum of safety. He knows he’s being crazy, but fuck, if this is going to happen, Steve’s body pressed up against his is the only thing that is going to keep him from outright public humiliation. 

“Please don’t get up, Stevie,” Bucky gasps as his dick twitches more forcefully this time. He can feel all the pent-up liquid sloshing around inside of himself, pressing down, fighting for release. He knows from experience—because it’s not like The Winter Soldier was afforded that many bathroom breaks—that in another minute or so he’s going to begin leaking in his underwear. 

“Why? What’s wrong? What’s going on, Bucky?” Steve’s brow furrows with worry. 

Bucky closes his eyes. He can’t look at Steve while he says this. Deep breath and—“I fucking have to piss, alright?” 

Steve’s entire body relaxes back into the seat, against Bucky. He _almost_ laughs and Bucky kind of wants to throttle him for it. “Jesus, Buck, is that all? I thought something was really, really wrong.” 

“Something is really, really wrong, asshole. I’m about two seconds away form peeing my pants here.” 

Steve sighs and looks around them, like some sort of magical solution is going to drop from the sky. “Well, there’s not a lot I can do about that right now, is there?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You can start this bike back up and get us the fuck out of this traffic. I’ve seen how you drive, Rogers. Navigating this mess is like a cake-walk for you.” 

Steve shakes his head. “No. I’m not going to break half a dozen traffic laws and endanger other people just because you should have went to the bathroom back at the tower.” 

Bucky growls. He’s about to lob another fired-up response at Steve when he notices movement up ahead, about five hundred yards from their position. Traffic is starting to _move_, thank Christ. Steve turns back around to watch as people begin shuffling back to their cars, waiting to merge back into line for the bridge. Steve pats Bucky’s thigh as if to say ’see, everything’s going to be alright’. But Bucky has a very real feeling that things are not going to be even close to alright. Brooklyn is still a long way off and his bladder is still a lead brick, weighing him down. When Steve starts the bike back up, the motor hums to life, jolting Bucky, surprising his bladder in the process. Bucky tries to clench up his muscles, but he’s too late, and he feels the first real, wet spurt of piss inside his underwear. Oh, god. Oh, fucking god. He is _not_ going to make it across that bridge. 

Steve looks back over his shoulder before they very, very slowly begin to move. The look he gives Bucky is so sympathetic, so apologetic that Bucky immediately wonders if Steve knows. Does he know that Bucky’s dick is leaking? Can he feel it? But no. That’s absurd. Bucky himself can barely feel it. Yes, his underwear is hot and damp, but the leak was small, and everything is under control now. 

They are picking up a little speed, and Steve is carefully maneuvering the bike from side to side. The movement is driving Bucky insane though, the rolling sensations causing him to have to squeeze his thighs tighter and lean his torso into Steve farther. Staying upright on the bike is a higher priority than his bladder, and that’s unfortunate. They are almost to the bridge when Bucky begins leaking again. This time he feels the force of it, soaking his underwear for several seconds before he can stop the flow. His underwear feels fucking _wet_, the material clinging uncomfortably to his skin now. He doesn’t know if his jeans are wet, too, but it’s only a matter of time. 

They’ve stopped at a traffic light, bike idling, and Bucky buries his face in the back of Steve’s shoulders. He’s got Steve’s jacket clenched tight in both fists, and he’s beginning to feel himself shake with the effort to not wet himself any further. Steve angles his head around and brushes a gentle kiss to Bucky’s forehead. 

“Alright, Buck?” 

Bucky shakes his head and whimpers against his boyfriend’s back. “Stevie,” he whispers. He knows Steve hears him because his hands tighten on the handlebars and tension ripples in the corded muscle of his neck. Bucky feels another hot, hard gush of piss wetting his clothing, and this time he just knows that more than his underwear is getting soaked. He whimpers again, and the bike starts to move across the bridge. Finally. 

But that doesn’t matter, not really. Bucky doesn’t see the point in trying to hold himself back anymore. Even if they’re almost in Brooklyn, what then? He’s not going to make it to any public restroom, no matter how quickly they find one. And he’s already sporting a very sizable wet spot on his jeans that will be as obvious as a neon fucking sign to anyone who sees it. Even if he manages to not completely empty his bladder into his pants, he’s still _already wetting his pants_. Continuing to struggle at this point seems pretty futile. And, shit, fuck. His body is pretty adamant that this is happening no matter what. 

“I’m sorry, Stevie.” Bucky whispers over the roar of the engine and the nearby traffic. “I can’t hold it anymore. I’m so sorry.” 

Steve manages to take one his hands off the handlebars. He reaches back and grabs Bucky’s hand, still fisted in the jacket, and squeezes tight. Bucky grips onto Steve’s fingers as his bladder begins to release full force. Bucky is shuddering with unbelievable relief as the bike speeds on across the bridge. Piss is gushing out of him with pent-up intensity. Within only a matter of seconds his jeans are completely soaked through. He can feel the pee running down his thighs and the warmth beginning to pool underneath him, where his balls are hot and wet, in the puddle forming on the seat. And, fuck, Steve’s leather seat. He’s not just pissing his pants, he’s pissing on Steve’s bike, and it’s humiliating. 

Bucky is still peeing when he feels Steve’s body shift forward on his seat. That’s when Bucky realizes that the wetness must’ve finally reached Steve’s pants. It’s official now—he’s peed on his boyfriend in public, and he is going to die of embarrassment. Having an accident wasn’t bad enough, he also had to get Steve wet while he was doing it. Fucking hell. 

Bucky barely registers the fact that the bike has slowed and stopped. Steve’s voice, soft and low, hums just below the surface of his utter humiliation. He doesn’t want to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to move. His jeans feel heavy and uncomfortable; his ass is wet. He doesn’t know when he stopped pissing, but he doesn’t really care. He did enough damage in a very short period of time, and now he’s sitting in a puddle of his own pee on the side of the road while his boyfriend tries to get him to move. 

“C’mon, Buck. I need you to sit up and look at me. You’re okay. Everything is okay. I’ve got you. Just open your eyes and look at me, Buck.” 

Bucky does as he’s told. He doesn’t know why. But Steve is looking at him in that earnest way that is distinctly Steve Rogers, and he trembles a little bit under the weight of the gaze. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” 

“Not even remotely okay,” Bucky grits out between clenched teeth. He chances a look down at his lap and is mortified by what he sees. Even though his jeans were dark he can still make out the wet stains marking his thighs, darkening the fabric even more. His crotch is filthy and the seat below him is wet. Then he sees Steve’s ass, the dark spots dampening his khakis where they’d been bunched up against Bucky’s groin while he wet himself. “Oh, god. Steve. I’m so sorry—Steve—“ 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad. We’re okay.” 

“Steve.” Bucky buries his face in Steve’s jacket. “I just peed my pants. I just peed—_your_ pants are wet, Steve.” 

“So? They’ll dry.” Steve says in that matter-of-fact ‘I couldn’t give a shit what other people think’ voice of his, and Bucky knows he’s the luckiest man alive right now. Steve is too good for him, and he’s going to spend the rest of his life making this up to him. He squirms against the rapidly cooling material in his lap, growing more itchy and uncomfortable by the second. Just. Maybe not right now. 

“Do you think maybe we can go home now?” Bucky asks. 

“Yeah, Buck.” Steve leans in and kisses his check. “Let’s go home and get cleaned up, alright?”

Bucky nods and mentally prepares himself for what is about to be the longest ride and walk-of-shame of his life. 

And that’s saying something.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this is a work of fanfiction. 
> 
> If you see any typos or grammatical errors let me know because I didn't spend much time with this one.
> 
> Comments are moderated. If you'd like to leave me a note that you don't want published to the whole world, please tag it #anon.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
